"Fudge!" he muttered, following me out to the cab.
"We will drive by the Pont Neuf," he suggested. "You know the proverb?"
"No," said I; "what proverb?"
"The bridegroom who passes by the Pont Neuf will always meet a priest, a soldier, and a white horse. The priest will bless his marriage, the soldier will defend it, the white horse will bear his burdens through life."
As a matter of fact, passing the Pont Neuf, we did see a priest, a soldier, and a white horse. But it is a rare thing not to meet this combination on the largest, longest, oldest, and busiest bridge in Paris. All three mascots are as common in Paris as are English sparrows in the Bois de Boulogne.
I bought a book on the quay, then re-entered the taxi and directed the driver to take us to the race-course at Longchamps.
Our way led up the Champs Elysées, and, while we whirled along, Van Dieman very kindly told me as much about the French army as I now write, and for the accuracy of which I refer to my future son-in-law.
There are, in permanent garrison in Paris, about thirty thousand troops stationed. This does not include the famous Republican Guard corps, which is in reality a sort of municipal gendarmerie, composed of several battalions of infantry, several squadrons of gorgeous cavalry, and a world-famous band, which corresponds in functions to our own Marine Band at Washington.
The barracks of the regular troops are scattered about the city, and occupy strategic positions as the armouries of our National Guard are supposed to do. All palaces, museums of importance, and government buildings are guarded day and night by infantry. The cavalry guard only their own barracks; the marines, engineers, and artillery the same.